


(life can be like) december snow

by somethinglikegumption



Series: most wonderful time of the year [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: (the holy trinity), Exes, F/M, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-09-22 15:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethinglikegumption/pseuds/somethinglikegumption
Summary: Betty decides to escape for a while at her ex's family hunting cabin. Turns out her ex had the same idea.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A kind Tumblr anon prompted this with "you'd freeze out there".
> 
> Title comes from December Snow by the Moody Blues.

“It’s just for the weekend, and I’m pretty sure he’s in the city for a meeting with his publisher,” Betty says over the speaker as she tries to navigate through the steady snowfall.

“Did you even ask him? What if he ends up there?” Veronica asks, frustration clear in her voice even through the poor connection.

“I think I can handle staying with my ex for a few nights. If it gets terrible I’ll come home right away.” Betty checks the GPS and turns on the blinker. “I’m just about to pull in, can I call you later?”

Veronica sighs. “Fine, but if he shows up for one of his Thoreau moments all I’m saying is ‘I told you so.’”

Not dignifying the comment with a response, Betty hangs up the phone and pulls into the small cabin, now charmingly covered in the first snow of the season. No lights are visible inside, and she’d never admit it to Veronica, but she’s a little relieved.

Betty hasn’t seen Jughead since their split a few months ago, but she was going to take full advantage of their promise to stay friends and her standing invitation to use his grandfather’s old hunting cabin.

It sat unused for most of the year other than the annual father-son bonding trip in the summer that Jughead hated, so she figured it would be the perfect place to disconnect after a long stint in D.C. covering the midterm elections. 

Grabbing her suitcase and grocery bags from the trunk, she locks the car and goes for the garden gnome sitting on the ledge, covering up the front door key. The first thing she does is kick on the heat, before unloading the stack of books she brought to get her through the week. 

It takes a few minutes of digging around in the bags to find the bottle of wine, but once she’s set with the fire going, a glass on the table, and her first trashy romance novel, she settles in for the first night of her stay.

She’s woken by the sound of stomping feet on the porch a few hours later. Sitting straight up, the book slides from her stomach to the floor.

A low voice is cursing up a storm outside when she creeps to the door with only the half-full wine bottle for protection.

Praying to whatever higher power is out there, she slowly unlocks the door and pokes her head out.

The familiar grey beanie is the first thing she sees on the other side.

“Betty?”

“Jughead?” she asks, lowering the wine bottle.  “What are you doing here?”

“Can we have this conversation in the heat please?” he asks, pushing past her into the cabin. He drops the worn army green duffle by the door and heads straight to the fireplace to warm his hands.

Betty follows him in shock. He shakes off snow as he goes and she has to step carefully to avoid soaking her cozy socks.

Once he’s appropriately warm (and Betty has bitten her thumbnail nearly down to the nub), Jughead finally turns to speak to her.

“Now. What are you doing here?” he asks, hands on his hips.

Betty is instantly apologetic. “I should have called, I just got back from D.C. and I needed to get out of the city for a while, and I remembered you never come up here except for the summer, and I couldn’t afford a -”

“Okay, breathe,” he says, lifting his hands to rest on her shoulders. She shakes the tension out and he laughs. “It’s fine, I was just expecting you to maybe give me a little warning before you came up here.”

“I can go, if you want me to,” she admits.

“I think you’re stuck, actually,” he tells her. “They’re closing the roads pretty much from here to Riverdale because of the snow.”

Betty moans and rushes to the door.

“Wait! You’ll freeze out there,” Jughead calls as he follows her. He can’t stop her from opening the door to find her little sedan covered in a thick coat of snow, almost fully buried.

She lets the door swing shut and immediately goes for the bottle of wine to pour another glass.

Closed roads mean staying overnight. In a cabin. With her ex. In one bed.

She takes a large gulp and sets the glass down, dropping heavily on the couch and burying her head in her hands.

“I’ll take the couch, I guess?” Jughead offers, breaking the silence.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We lived together for a year, at least we can share a bed and not have to split up the blankets,” she says, lifting her head. 

Jughead just shrugs his shoulders and grabs the duffle bag to drag it into the bedroom. 

“What are you doing out here in the middle of a blizzard?” she calls down the hall.

“Got stuck on the road coming back from the city,” he replies, voice getting clearer when he comes back into the living room sans beanie, sherpa jacket and boots. “This was the only place I could think of out in the middle of nowhere.”

Betty tries not to notice how the grey t-shirt he’s wearing stretches invitingly over his arms. 

“The roads must have been horrible. Can I get you some food or something?” She gestures to the now empty wine bottle. “Unfortunately, I only got the one bottle.”

“I’m actually just really looking forward to sleeping finally,” he says. “I had a deadline for my publisher and I’ve only been grabbing a few minutes here and there.”

Betty gulps and nods. “Probably a good idea for me too considering I was asleep on the couch when you got here.” 

She starts to clean up the coffee table and rinses her glass in the sink. She lingers in the kitchen as long as she can, and Jughead must be able to sense it.

“Sure you don’t want me on the couch?” he asks one more time, and she shakes her head. 

Jughead takes his turn in the bathroom first and has the bed turned down by the time she’s finished. They fall back into the familiar routine easily, Jughead on the right side with two pillows, Betty on the left with one and an extra blanket. 

The simple domesticity must make her nostalgic. They lay there awkwardly for a few minutes before Betty, emboldened by the wine, finally asks the question she’s been thinking for the past three months.

“Why did we break up?”

She feels, rather than sees him turn onto his side to face her.

“We just…grew apart,” he says, and she scoffs.

“Why did we really break up? Not that bullshit we told everyone.”

He must be thinking because he’s silent for a long moment before he starts to speak. “I was on that book tour, then you were traveling all the time with the campaigns, then your dad had his heart attack…we were apart for so long and we were too busy to notice how distant we had gotten until it was too late.”

“The timing wasn’t right,” she agrees softly.

Jughead turns back onto his back and they lay quietly until he clears his throat.

“If you were-” he pauses, “if we were more settled like we are now,” and he stops entirely. Betty holds her breath.

“I would want to try again,” he finally says.

She doesn’t hesitate. “I would too.” 

She frees her hand from under the comforter and rests it face up on the blanket.

“Goodnight Jug,” she whispers, and his fingers clutch hers.

“Goodnight Betts.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bughead making s’mores in the fireplace while the power is out. 
> 
> Remember when I got this prompt two months ago and let it sit in my inbox? Me neither.

When Betty wakes the next morning, it’s to a cold, empty bed. Staring up at the ceiling, she wonders if the whole thing was a dream. A quick glance to the corner and the old army green duffle propped up there proves her wrong.

Swinging her legs out from under the blankets, the cool shock of the freezing floor wakes her fully. She can hear clanking pans from the kitchen. Jughead must have woken up hungry.

Jughead. The memory of last night warms her even from the chill of the room, the idea that they could start again giving her hope for however long they would be stuck in this cabin together.

Although, she thinks to herself, it won’t exactly be a trial to stay here with him in the same bed.

Jughead’s muffled curse finally leads her from the bedroom. He’s huddled over the stove, trying to cook the eggs she had grabbed at the store one handed while reaching to run what looks like a burned finger under the cold water of the sink.

“Thanks for making them scrambled,” she says from the doorway. He spins in place, spatula in hand coming up to defend himself.

“Easy, it’s just me,” she laughs, and he lowers the makeshift weapon sheepishly.

“Sorry, you scared me a bit,” he says, turning back to the stove. “I remembered they were your favorite.”

“I think I grabbed some bacon too.” Scooting past him to the refrigerator, she starts to rummage through the drawers. 

“Any bread for toast?” 

“And butter and strawberry jam,” she says, pulling the bacon from the fridge with a triumphant grin. 

“It’s like you knew I would be coming, with my favorite type of jam, two of everything, and that bag of supplies for s’mores,” he teases with a wink over his shoulder. 

Betty sets the bacon down on the counter, starting to unwrap the package and choosing not to respond to that comment. So what if coming to the cabin made her think of him and gave her the strange urge to go back to the way things were, even with just a simple thing like food choices? It wasn’t a sign of anything.

Her gaze drifts over to Jughead, his shoulders flexing in the tight white tank he favors as a sleep shirt as he mixes the eggs.

Definitely not a sign of any lingering feelings.

Jughead starts to turn to grab a plate and she snaps herself back to the bacon. Trading the opened package for her plate of scrambled eggs, she bumps him away from the silverware drawer so she can get forks and knives.

He preps the eggs and bacon, she makes the toast, and ten minutes later they’re settled at the kitchen table, enjoying the meal with a quiet ease Betty hasn’t felt since their last trip up here together.

“Plans for today?” Jughead asks between bites of toast.

“Cuddle up on the couch under every blanket in this cabin and read the New York Times Bestsellers I’ve missed over the past four months, for a start,” Betty says, “then maybe start a puzzle or two.”

“Mind if I join you on the couch? I’ve got some editing to do and it’s the place I think best.”

“Only if you let me have that last slice of bacon.”

Jughead passes it over with limited complaining. They work in tandem to clear the table and wash the dishes, settling into the routine of wash and dry like they never left it. 

Betty grabs her first novel from the stack by the door and Jughead collects all of his tools - namely a red pen and a rainbow selection of Post-it Notes. They share the couch and a warm blanket, Betty peeking her head up from her book every few moments to see him hard at work. He catches her once and her eyes dart back to the page, but not before she sees the twinkle in his eye.

An early sunset has darkened the room by the time Betty stands again to turn on the lights. A flick of the switch reveals no results.

“What the-“ she murmurs under her breath, going over to the other panel to try those switches with the same outcome.

“I think the power’s out,” she says over her shoulder to Jughead. He sets his manuscript down on the coffee table and beelines for the breaker in the kitchen. His fiddling must not work because he rummages around in the cabinets and drawers for a second before returning from the kitchen with a fistful of candles and a flashlight.

“Storm must have knocked it out,” he responds, lighting candles and setting them on the table. “Luckily we have the fireplace for heat and candles for light, and the oven is gas if we need it.”

“What about everything in the fridge? Won’t it go bad?”

“Good thing everything we need for s’mores doesn’t need to be refrigerated.” With that he leaps off the couch to head for the kitchen, drawing a shocked bark of laughter from Betty. 

In ten seconds flat, he returns with the marshmallows, chocolate bars and graham crackers she bought on a whim. He also brings two wooden spoons with a sheepish grin.

“This is the best we’ve got in terms of roasting implements, unfortunately,” he says, popping open the bag of marshmallows to stick one on the handle end of the spoon. “See? Perfect.”

Betty just rolls her eyes and takes the spoon from him, climbing off the couch to sit next to the fire and toast her marshmallow. 

The blanket wraps around her shoulders from behind as Jughead sits down, his own marshmallow and spoon at the ready.

“Thanks,” she whispers, pulling the blanket tighter with her free hand.

His attention is fully on the flames, keeping an eye on how much of the sugary sweet gets toasted. Once the end catches fire, he pulls it out of the fire place, blowing out the flame and forgoing the chocolate and cracker, biting the marshmallow straight off the stick.

Betty giggles at the sight. Each time they did this before, Jughead was the more methodical of the two, perfectly toasting without burning, and waiting for the chocolate to melt before eating the entire sandwich.

Good to see they both had grown in the months apart.

“You’ve got a little-” she gestures to a bit of marshmallow left on his upper lip. His tongue darts out to wipe it away, and she’s distracted for a minute, but it slips back into his mouth and misses the drop entirely.

Almost instinctively, she raises her hand and swipes her thumb across his lip. She’s hit with a wave of want, and her hand lingers in place at the sudden rush of feeling.

His eyes widen slightly, but he lets her continue, her thumb pressing firmer against his skin. 

Slowly, slowly enough that he could say no or push her away if he wanted to, she leans in and replaces her finger with her lips.

The blanket slips from her shoulders as his hand reaches for her waist to pull her closer. The marshmallows lay forgotten on the floor, but she can taste the sweetness on his lips as he returns her kiss.

She clambers onto his lap and finally grasps those shoulders she’s been gawking at, using her grip to pull herself impossibly closer. His hand creeps up her back, pulling out the ponytail she had hastily swept her hair into earlier so he can run his fingers through the curls.

Using that hand to brace her from the cool wood floor, he gently lays her back, keeping them connected the whole time. As he leans up to adjust, she has to stop him to take in his look of wanting, the firelight making his darkened eyes more apparent.

“For the record: I’m glad you showed up and we got snowed in, Jug.”

His eyes soften and return to their normal shade.

“I’m glad we’re going to try again,” he says lowly. “Now, let’s see what we can get up to before they fix the power,” he says as he pulls her close, and Betty’s protestation is lost in the moment.


End file.
